


By the Book

by Vyc



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Awkwardness, Bureaucracy, Crack, Embarrassment, F/M, Humor, Humour, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Multi, Sisko hates his life, Too many relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyc/pseuds/Vyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>All Starfleet personnel must obtain authorisation from their C.O. as well as clearance from their medical officer before initiating an intimate relationship with an alien species.</i> - VOY 5x17 "The Disease." Enforcing this particular Starfleet regulation is all well and good on a starship, but on an active space station maintained by two separate governments, matters are a little more...challenging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Book

**Author's Note:**

> The moment I learned of this particular regulation, I knew I had to write a DS9 fic about it. While on one hand it does make sense that people would want to know whether there would be any unpleasant side effects to getting it on with a member of another species, on the other, when it comes to a place like DS9, the regulation strikes me as horrendously impractical. Thus: this fic. I took a few liberties with the relationships in this, for purposes of fun and shipping bias, but the majority of pairings in this are canon compliant.
> 
> On a side note, I came _this close_ to titling the fic "Alien Banging Regulations," and it's all [Ereka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenThreads/pseuds/GoldenThreads)'s fault.

It hadn't taken Sisko long to settle into his responsibilities as commanding officer of Deep Space 9. It had probably helped that he wasn't sitting around and pondering the changes to his life. Not that he could have even if he'd wanted to—he didn't have the time. There were always ten things that needed to be done immediately, a dozen things that should have been done yesterday, and fully fifty things that needed to be done by next week. He didn't doubt that many in his position would have been stressed, but very rapidly he had gone from merely accepting the workload to looking forward to meeting it head-on every morning.

There was, in fact, only one new task he did not relish: giving the Starfleet personnel on his station permission to initiate intimate interspecies relationships.

Oh, he understood why caution in this particular area was necessary. He'd taken Interspecies Protocol at Starfleet Academy, the same as everyone else. He'd heard the scare stories from his professors (and the urban legends from his classmates). He'd even read—well, skimmed—the _Starfleet Handbook on Personal Relationships_.

He wasn't so certain, however, that whoever was responsible for the regulations had been thinking about an active space station staffed by personnel from two different governments when they'd settled on the rules.

At first, he hadn't minded. Within days of assuming his post, he'd gotten his first request for authorisation, from an Ensign Kaneko Haruka in security. It seemed she and Ensign Tala Suri, a Bajoran engineer, had hit it off _very_ well. He'd smiled as he signed his permission and sent the happy ensign on her way.

After he'd started fielding multiple requests a week, however, his smiles had taken on something of a forced edge.

Especially when it seemed as though half of his signatures were for Dax. All right, maybe that was something of an exaggeration—but then again, he could inwardly singsong his name in perfect time with her when she popped her head into the office with a certain padd in hand. It seemed Jadzia was just as much of a free spirit as Curzon had been. That was all well and good, but he wasn't sure he wanted to hear about Jadzia's night with a Gallamite captain any more than he'd been interested in Curzon's special oo-mox techniques.

His one consolation was picturing Dr. Bashir's no doubt increasingly despondent reactions every time Dax turned up at the infirmary to get her secondary authorisation. Dax had confided in him that she was having trouble discouraging the painfully young, painfully eager doctor's advances. Sisko thought she just might have hit upon the perfect solution.

*

A year into his posting, when Jake started talking more and more about a certain "Laira," Sisko discovered a new low to his position.

"Bye Dad," Jake said as he breezed out the door. "See you later."

Sisko stepped in front of him, stopping him mid-breeze. "Hold on, Jake-o. Just where do you think you're going at this hour?"

"Oh, uh." Jake stuck his thumbs in his pockets. His awkwardness sent Sisko's brain from yellow to red alert. "Laira and I were going to hang out for a while, that's all."

"'Hang out,'" Sisko repeated.

"Yeah, you know. Talk, and, uh . . . talk and stuff."

Sisko heaved a sigh. Where had his little boy gone? The one who'd always been fast asleep by twenty hundred hours? The one who hadn't found girls _quite_ so fascinating?

"That 'stuff' had better not go too far. You don't have the clearance."

Jake flushed. "Come on, Dad, you're not my commanding officer."

"You're right. I'm not." He smiled. "I'm your father, and that is worse."

At Jake's groan, Sisko's smile turned into a grin. He briefly cupped his son's cheek. "If you're really determined, you could always go talk to Dr. Bashir. See what he says."

Jake rolled his eyes. "No thanks!"

But he was laughing, a bit, and so it was with a light heart that Sisko clapped him on the shoulder and told him, "Go have fun with Laira. Just don't have _too_ much fun and make sure to be back by twenty-three hundred hours."

"I will." Jake briefly covered Sisko's hand with his own, then continued for the door (once Sisko had cleared the way). "See you."

Sisko sighed again once the door had closed. However bad approving the sexual relations of his staff was, negotiating terms with his son was far, far worse.

*

It wasn't all that long after when, early one morning, Dr. Bashir shuffled into his office. The moment Sisko set eyes on him, he laid aside the padd he'd been reading. Dr. Bashir was a rare visitor; while they of course worked together with the rest of the senior staff to solve the various issues that turned up on a quasi-regular basis, one-on-one meetings just didn't happen.

"Dr. Bashir. What can I do for you?"

"Ah. Um. I have, ah, a form for you to sign, sir."

Dr. Bashir held out the padd he'd been flipping from hand to hand without looking at it or him, and honestly, that should have tipped Sisko off, but his mind was still stuck on the irregularity of the situation.

"What kind of form?" Sisko asked. His gaze dropped to skim—some very familiar legalese. ". . . Ah."

"Yes, I've, um, already taken care of things on my end, so if you could just sign off for me. . . ." Dr. Bashir said, clearly striving for a casual tone despite looking like a giraffe that had just found itself with an additional leg.

Ensign Melora Pazlar . . . she was an Elaysian, wasn't she? What had that damned handbook said about Humans and Elaysians?

He gave up trying to remember. "You're medically compatible, I assume?"

"Yessir. I, uh, checked last night."

Sisko's eyebrows went up, but he asked no more questions and signed the padd. About to hand it back, he must have been struck by the spirit of Dax, because he found himself remarking, "I see Ensign Pazlar isn't having any trouble adapting to life on the station, then."

His reward was a deep blush and a determinedly steady, "No sir. She's settling in just fine."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it."

He gave back the form, Dr. Bashir accepted it and fled, and Sisko sat back in his seat. Well, now, it seemed he had some good news to share with the old man. Finally, she could rest easy.

*

Time passed. He stopped hearing about Laira and Mardah started coming up instead, and wasn't _that_ a cause for heartburn. There was one matter that consoled Sisko, though, and a great consolation it was, too: he would remain forever grateful, he thought as he glimpsed Quark pestering Professor Lang through the door of the bar, that Quark was not a member of Starfleet.

Not his jurisdiction, he reminded himself and with a shudder continued on his way.

*

The next time he had another member of his senior staff in his office (besides Dax), it was once again Dr. Bashir. He looked a little more comfortable this time, a little more sure of himself—but he still didn't seem to be enjoying his visit.

"So," Sisko said as one excessively familiar form was handed to him, "who is it this time?"

"Leeta, sir. She's a Bajoran," Dr. Bashir added when it must have been apparent he had no idea who she was.

That speeded up the process considerably—he couldn't even guess at how many Human-Bajoran pairings he'd approved by now—and he skipped to the end of the padd and signed it with no further ado.

"Is there anything particularly interesting I should know about Leeta?"

"Sir?"

"For when the rest of the staff asks," he clarified, and yes, there was that flush he'd been waiting for. "While officially these forms are submitted in the strictest confidence—"

"Dax," Dr. Bashir finished for him. No further explanation necessary. "Well, Commander, you can tell her—and everyone, for that matter—to kindly not interfere. I'm . . . submitting the form slightly in advance, so to speak, so I'd appreciate being left alone."

Sisko smiled. "I won't tell her that you're being premature, Doctor, but I will tell her not to pry. Whether she listens is another story."

Dr. Bashir's sigh could have knocked the baseball off his desk were he standing closer. "I understand, sir."

He took the padd back and off he went, shoulders hunched and head tucked. Sisko spared a moment to feel a bit sorry for him, but not a very long one. After all, there was a real possibility Dr. Bashir was about to have the sort of evening that would make up for the gossip that was inevitably going to be broadcast station-wide come morning.

*

Over the next year, the stream of people turning up in his office requesting his signature on that particular form slowed noticeably. Between the Klingons and the Dominion, there just weren't the same number of people moving through DS9. Civilians were a little more reluctant to travel these days, particularly to a station positioned next to the gateway to a cold war and near the front of a hot one, even if the station itself wasn't directly involved.

The year following that, the slowdown was still evident—except, it seemed, among his senior staff. It appeared no one had told them that people were being more cautious these days. Or possibly someone had and they were trying to pick up the slack. He didn't know. All he was sure of was the day he received two requests for authorization and one for information on that same subject was the worst shift he'd worked in a long time (at least where his mental state was concerned). It didn't help in the slightest that both said requests came simultaneously. It could be argued that at least he was getting it over with, but if anyone was going to be doing that sort of arguing, it wasn't going to be him.

When Worf and Dax stepped into his office together, it took only one look for him to begin hoping with great desperation that five years on the job had made him paranoid. Judging by their body language, though, he doubted it. Worf was the most rigid Sisko had ever seen him (which was a hell of a sight for a man as tightly wound as him), and Dax—the best description he could come up with was "Whoops." She also looked very . . . relaxed.

He fought the urge to rub his face.

"Can I help you?"

"We wish to submit an official request for authorisation," Worf announced. He glared straight ahead as one hand thrust forward, and yes, that really was what he'd been afraid of. At this point, he could recognize the exact shape of the opening paragraphs on that damned form, probably at ten metres.

"Sorry we're kind of late with it," Dax added, dropping her own padd much more casually onto his desk.

"We will submit ourselves for any punishment you wish to assign for this breach in regulations," Worf went on. "Our conduct was unacceptable for Starfleet officers."

Dax smiled. "I wouldn't go that far, Worf. If you ask me, I'd say your conduct was pretty acceptable, all things considered."

Sisko gave in and covered his face with a hand. From behind its safety, he said, "No punishment is necessary, Commander. Just don't do it again." He raised his head. "Have you cleared things with Dr. Bashir yet?"

Somehow, Worf managed to stand even more stiffly at attention. "He is aware of our request."

"Is he ever," Dax said on a chuckle. "Between us and Grilka and Quark, we sure kept him busy earlier today."

Sisko winced and took a moment to once again be profoundly grateful that Quark was not a member of Starfleet. That was far too much information already, and judging from the disturbed look on Worf's face, he wasn't the only one to think so.

He paged to the end of Worf's document. "And are Klingons and Trills compatible?" 

(The fourteenth revised edition of the Handbook of Personal Relationships had just arrived two weeks ago. He didn't doubt Klingon-Trill relations were in there somewhere, but now was not the time to check.)

"Compatible enough for what we're doing," Dax answered. "We'd have a little more trouble if we wanted to have a baby, but we're not exactly at that stage yet."

Sisko quickly signed both forms and handed them back. At this point, he wasn't sure for whose sake he was rushing: Worf's or his own. "Well, there you are." And then, because he couldn't let Worf be the only one to make matters awkward, he added, "Have fun." 

"Thank you, Captain," Worf said curtly and very, very neutrally.

Dax, however, more than made up for his lack of enthusiasm. "Don't worry. We will." She took Worf by the arm. "Come on. Let's go do as Benjamin says—legally this time."

And, as she led him away, Sisko was treated to a sight rarer than a fire rainbow on Earth: the sight of a Klingon blushing.

*

There were only fifteen minutes left before Sisko went off duty and he couldn't wait to be finished. After Dax and Worf had left earlier that day, he had launched himself into his work to keep his mind from drifting into frightening skies. All of that avoidance was exhausting, though, and now he was more than ready to go home, put his feet up, and relax.

The door to his office chimed and he gladly set aside the performance review he'd been considering. "Enter."

Chief O'Brien hesitated his way into the office a step at a time, stopping just far enough inside for the doors to recognise the lack of impediment and squeeze shut behind him. When he spoke, he sounded unusually . . . uncertain. "Can I talk to you for a minute, Captain?"

"Of course." Sisko leaned back in his chair. "What's on your mind?"

"Well, uh. Look." His gaze wandered over just about every square centimetre of Sisko's office, apparently seeking a safe target. Given how spartan the place was, there wasn't much to choose from. "I was filling out this form, and I . . . I got stuck on a part."

Sisko slowly sat up, his hands pressing flat on his desk. Oh no. Oh no. He knew this brand of fidgety discomfort too well. He'd thought he'd been safe with _Chief O'Brien_ of all people. He had arrived on the station a married man, for heaven's sake—married to a Human, no less! But now. . . .

"Which part would that be, Chief?" he asked carefully.

"Well . . . you know the Handbook on Personal Relationships."

"Too well. What about it?"

". . . You know how you're supposed to fill out this form if you're going to. Going to, ah. Have a _relationship_ with a non-Human. Like . . . a Bajoran. You know."

"Go on."

O'Brien writhed. Then, finally, his eyes locked front and centre. "This might be a little . . . _early_ , but would a civilian already involved in a relationship have to fill out the form as well?"

Sisko blew out a long, long breath. "How early is 'early'?"

"Well, uh, I'm just doing a little research, so to speak." O'Brien's lips stretched back into what was probably a smile. "I haven't exactly brought it up with Keiko yet, but—"

Sisko cut him off. "Then I recommend you do so before conducting any more 'research.' In this matter, I'm not the highest authority—your wife is."

"Right, sir. Of course." The Chief's shoulders dropped. "Permission to be dismissed, sir?"

"Granted. Oh, and Chief?"

O'Brien turned back from where he'd been about to depart. "Yes, sir?"

"No, Keiko doesn't need to fill out a form, but you do. You also need to obtain clearance from Dr. Bashir before embarking on a relationship like this."

The look O'Brien turned upon him was that of a man cornered by a Jem'Hadar squadron with no hope of backup. "Do I really have to, sir? Can't I just . . . skip that part?"

It was heartless of him to find humour in his chief engineer's pain, but in this job, he had to make his own amusement. "Yes, you really have to, and no, you can't skip it. If you're absolutely certain you want to progress with this relationship of yours, Chief, go talk to your wife, get Dr. Bashir's permission, and then come back with that form filled out. Understood?"

"Understood, sir," O'Brien replied dully. "Thank you, sir."

With dragging steps, he departed the office, leaving Sisko to spend the last ten minutes of his shift attempting to bend his mind back to the performance reviews in self-defence.

*

About a week later, O'Brien returned to his office. Wordlessly, he held out the completed form. Wordlessly, Sisko signed it.

After the Chief had left, Sisko took a few minutes to compose a message to Starfleet HQ, once again strongly urging a reconsideration of the regulations covering interspecies relationships as enforced in locations with high amounts of traffic, such as, for example, space stations.

*

In the weeks following Cardassia's entry into the Dominion, Sisko didn't have any trouble keeping his mind occupied. The escalation of tension between the Federation and the Dominion, followed by the outbreak of all-out war, ensured that handily. When he was distracted, it was more often than not by the inescapable fact that the Federation and its allies were losing.

After being driven off DS9 and relocating to Starbase 375, he was no longer commanding officer. And thus one duty of his in particular fell to someone else. 

He hadn't expected to miss it at all, let alone as much as he did. But sometimes, midway through reading casualty reports and battle plans, he found himself wishing someone would shuffle through his doors with a bashful smile on their face and a form needing to be signed off in hand. It would have been a very welcome reminder that despite the relentless, numb suffering of war, there were still places where life went on as it always had.

When the station was at last retaken and he was back behind his desk, he was still reading casualty reports and receiving grim news from the front. But when the first ensign stopped in his office and laid on his desk a formal request for authorisation, he could have hugged her. As it was, he treated her to a smile bright as Bajor's sun and granted his permission with a flourish.

Going back to work, he caught himself humming that Earth hit from about five years back, "Happy in Love."

*

With the old man now happily married, Sisko didn't have many of his senior staff coming to him for relationship approval. But one day, about a month and a half after the wedding, in strode yet again Dr. Julian Bashir. This time, there wasn't even a hint of embarrassment or discomfort from the once young doctor. He simply arrived, announced, "I have something for you to sign, sir," and handed over the padd.

Well, well. Time changed everyone, it seemed.

Sisko took the padd without bothering to read it just yet. "Doctor, have you ever dated a Human since you were stationed here?"

Dr. Bashir blinked and tilted his head a bit. "I'm sure I must have at some—" He cut himself off, frowning. ". . . Or possibly I haven't."

Sisko nodded once. That had been the answer he had been expecting, all right. "I thought so. I seem to be signing an awful lot of these forms for you."

That earned him a smile. "Sorry about that, sir. I'm sure you have plenty of work to do without me adding to it."

He waved his free hand; it was fine. "So who is she this time?"

And only now did Dr. Bashir show the first sign of hesitation. "Actually . . . it's Garak, sir."

Sisko's hand checked on the padd, and when he didn't respond right away, the Doctor went on. "The war got me thinking, and I, um, I guess it got him thinking too, because. . . ." His voice trailed off when presumably he got a good look at Sisko's smile.

"So you finally took that big step," Sisko said and looked up just in time to see Dr. Bashir duck his head forward with the most bewildered squint imaginable.

"I'm . . . sorry?"

Sisko's smile broadened. Oh, he was enjoying this. "We've all been waiting for you to take it since your first year on the station." 

". . . You have?"

"That's right." He flicked to the end of the form. There still wasn't much data on Human-Cardassian biological compatibility, but he had the feeling that question had already been taken care of. "Congratulations, Doctor."

Dr. Bashir held out his hand for the padd. It seemed to be an unconscious reflex. "Thank you, sir. And, um, thank you, sir."

"You're welcome. Have a good afternoon."

"Thank you, sir," Dr. Bashir repeated and Sisko just couldn't stifle a chuckle. "Um, you as well."

*

Sisko's first week back on duty after the Romulans declared war on the Dominion was a quiet one. Only Garak knew what had affected him so deeply, since it was his actions that had driven him into such a long, bleak period of self-hatred, but despite being in the dark, everyone still seemed to be going easy on him. It was obvious they all were avoiding sending anything his way unless it was one hundred percent necessary, and while he wasn't certain he deserved such consideration, he still appreciated it.

But then, one morning, Kira and Odo walked into his office side by side with very similar awkward body language. The sight of both of them looking that off-kilter was so bizarre—even more so than Odo humming in his office a few days ago—that it was more than enough to ground him in the moment.

"Major, Constable, what can I do for you?"

"Captain," Kira began, then seemed uncertain of how to go on.

"We were wondering. . . ." Odo continued, but appeared to encounter similar difficulties.

"Yes?"

". . . If you could say a blessing for us. For our new relationship. As the Emissary," Kira finally finished.

As she did, Sisko at last noticed that Kira and the Constable were holding hands. In that moment, for just a little while, Senator Vreenak's face left him.

He rose, walked around his desk, and stood before his two officers.

"It would be my honour."

And then he smiled, and he meant it.

*

"So Dad, I met this really nice girl. . . ."

"Oh yes?"

"Her name's Kesha."

"Let me guess: she's Bajoran."

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Let's just say I had a feeling."

*

After Worf and Dax's return to DS9 following their capture by the Dominion, they had of course needed to be debriefed. Though Dax had claimed that she and Worf knew almost nothing about the new Dominion alliance with the Breen, Starfleet wanted every last detail of their time spent in enemy territory, no matter how minute, and so did Sisko.

By the end of the session, he was positive his brain had turned to stew and he could tell everyone else involved with the debriefing felt the same. When he dismissed Dax and Worf, he expected that they would both be heading to their quarters for a nice, long rest. He only wished he could do the same.

What he hadn't been expecting was to see Worf in his office a bare hour later, padd in hand.

Sisko didn't take it right away, despite it being extended with a rigid arm across his desk. Knowing Worf, it was probably an improved version of the report he'd already given, written up so that nothing imperfect would be sent to Starfleet with his name attached.

"Commander," he said tiredly, "do I need to get Dr. Bashir to confine you to bed? I hope that isn't what it's going to take to get you off your feet."

Worf's eyes narrowed at Dr. Bashir's name. Obviously he didn't appreciate the threat. "No, Captain. I am here to submit this form and to present myself for disciplinary action." He lifted his chin with the air of a man preparing for execution.

His curiosity piqued, Sisko at last took the padd from him, eyebrows on their way up. "Worf, what on—"

His gaze fell to the screen. It didn't contain a report for Starfleet.

". . . _Again_ , Commander?"

"Yes, sir." Worf didn't look at him. "I broke my solemn vow. I swore that I would never again conduct myself in such an unacceptable manner, and yet I have failed myself and you. I ask that you punish me to the fullest extent that Starfleet regulations allow."

Sisko tried not to sigh. He truly did. Worf took these matters far, far more seriously than anyone else—that meant he needed to take Worf's feelings just as seriously.

"Commander, I understand you regret your actions, but given the state of the war, I can't justify taking one of my finest officers out of commission over what Starfleet considers to be a minor infraction."

Worf didn't give one millimetre. "Even so, it is vital to maintain discipline during wartime. It can be said that the matter of my discipline is now more necessary than ever."

"It can be said by someone, but that someone isn't me."

Sisko paged through the form until he found the section requesting information about the potential partner or partners. It both was and wasn't a surprise to see Dax's name. He doubted Worf would have "initiated an intimate relationship" with anyone else, but at the same time—reassociation was one of the greatest taboos in Trill society. He'd have to have a serious talk with Dax once she'd rested to make certain everything was all right.

He looked up from the padd. Worf had yet to move.

"Commander?"

"Yes, Captain."

"I am delaying disciplinary action regarding this matter until further notice."

That got Worf to break position at last. "But sir—!"

Sisko held up a hand. "You heard me. I need you, Worf. I can't afford to have you confined to quarters and twiddling your thumbs all day—not until the war is over. Besides," he added, "if I punish you for breaking a relatively minor regulation, I'd certainly need to punish Dax for abandoning her post and stealing a runabout, and I don't intend to do that right now, either.

"Come see me when piece is declared. I'll be happy to initiate disciplinary action then," he finished, then smiled.

Worf gave up. His posture sagged the slightest amount before he forced himself back upright. "I understand, sir."

"Good. You're dismissed. Oh, and Commander?"

Worf paused in the doorway. "Yes, sir?"

" _Try_ to get a little rest, would you? I need you at the top of your game."

Worf sighed, apparently unable to help himself. "Very well, Captain. If there is no other alternative."

His next smile showed teeth. "There isn't. Good night, Mr. Worf."

"Captain."

His spine perfectly straight, Worf exited the office, leaving his padd behind on Sisko's desk. Only once the doors had closed did Sisko permit himself his own sigh.

*

Starfleet Headquarters  
Transmission date: 51984.89

Captain Sisko,

We at Starfleet HQ have received your repeated requests for a reexamination of official Starfleet policy regarding interspecies relationships. As the Federation and its allies are still involved in the Dominion War, this matter is not currently a priority. You will no doubt be pleased to hear, however, that the subject will be taken up by a committee of qualified personnel at the conclusion of the war. I presume you will join me in hoping that day will soon be at hand.

Thank you for your input on this matter and for your years of fine work as commanding officer of Deep Space 9.

Sincerely,

p.p. Velaat  
Adm. Sheera Tobal


End file.
